


don't let me drown / don't breathe alone

by ScreechTheMighty



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: (not a lot but still there), Crypto is here also but he mostly only features at the end, Gen, Intrusive Thoughts, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Paranoia, but also like...not the focus so, if canon won't give them therapy I'll do it myself, internalized abelism, note that I tagged for miraith because they're in a relationship and that's important to the fic, sneaky star wars reference, vent fic, wraith has ocd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:15:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26117053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScreechTheMighty/pseuds/ScreechTheMighty
Summary: < eighteen strides and she stops to abide / by the law that she herself has set >A vent fic.
Relationships: Mirage | Elliott Witt/Wraith | Renee Blasey
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	don't let me drown / don't breathe alone

**Author's Note:**

> Three things of import. First, this fic follows the canon of Immortals/Talk Sense, but I haven't decided if it's going to BE canon in that universe yet. I'll be sure to mention it if I do. (For those who haven't read those fics, the only thing you have to know is that in this part of the timeline, Elliott has been diagnosed with ADHD-PI and is getting help for it, also canon Miraith.)
> 
> Second, this fic is...actually really personal, so if it gets a bit intense, that's why.
> 
> Third, this fic does cover obsessive compulsive disorder and everything that comes with that, including violent (but not super graphic) intrusive thoughts. Fair warning.

It went like this.

Wraith would come back to her room, exhausted. She would change into pajamas, maybe brush her teeth if she didn’t feel _completely_ dead on her feet, then collapse into bed. Her head would hit the pillow. She’d close her eyes.

_What if there’s a camera in the room?_

Her eyes would snap back open.

She’d thoroughly check her room for cameras. She might have been able to evade the people who had captured her and kept her in that “hospital,” but that didn’t mean they couldn’t find her again. They might even find a way to monitor her from within the possessive grip of the Syndicate. The thought would chase her around the room as she searched, like a prowler on the hunt.

She’d search for cameras until she was sure there were none in the room. She’d lie back down. A few seconds later…

_Did I check everywhere?_

And back out of bed she would go.

This happened almost every night, always a minimum of twice. Sometimes she’d look once for cameras, again for listening devices, a third time just to be _sure_ there were no listening devices or cameras. Sometimes she barely slept, because if she wasn’t looking for cameras, she was lying in bed and thinking about every person she spoke to that day and if they were a potential treat.

She knew that it was, to an outsider, completely irrational. But the fear that they were watching her—that they might try to take her again—was overwhelming.

There was no way she’d risk going back to that place.

* * *

The voices weren’t always voices. Sometimes they were gut feelings, like her body was responding to an invisible hand on her shoulder. She’d learned to trust those gut feelings as much as she trusted the voices…even when they didn’t make sense.

Even when it felt like every little thing triggered her gut feelings.

Someone was near her things: check them to make sure they hadn’t been tampered with. About to start a match: check her kunai to make sure it was still there. Brush her hand over where someone had bumped into her, just to check for tracking devices. Check again, just to be sure.

Check again, if even if they weren’t close enough to her bag to actually touch anything.

Check again, even if the only person to step near her before the drop was Mirage, and he’d never touch her kunai without her permission.

Check again.

Just to be sure.

* * *

Some nights were worse than others.

There were lulls, sometimes, times where she could go days or weeks without wanting to check her room. Other times, she could go weeks with barely any sleep from the paranoia, from the deep gut feeling that something was wrong, that she needed to check, and check again, and check again because she might have missed something.

There were times when she couldn’t eat, not unless she’d prepared the food herself, because she couldn’t banish the thought that someone had tampered with pre-made or cafeteria food.

Times that she didn’t even want to leave her room because the world outside had too many risks. Because the second she left that space, the fear assaulted her from all sides, pointing out every place she could possibly be tracked, forcibly sedated, ambushed, taken away again.

She forced herself to leave because she had to. Because she needed to find who she was. Because she’d signed a contract for the games, like it or not. Because she had people she couldn’t let down: her friends, her boyfriend, and even the randoms she ended up on teams with, because while her opinion of them ranged from _pretty okay_ to _I never want to see you again_ , she wasn’t one to be a bad team mate.

Sometimes Wraith was grateful for the things that got her out of bed.

Sometimes she resented them.

* * *

Wraith had another kind of _worst day._ She didn’t know what caused them for sure, but she had a theory.

The most helpful and clear voices seemed to be from timelines directly adjacent to hers—the ones most similar, with the Wraiths most likely to be passing by. Usually, she didn’t hear from anyone too far away, or anyone commenting on a timeline that wasn’t hers.

But sometimes, something shifted. She wasn’t sure what set it off—if it was stress, lack of sleep, or some kind of change in the atmosphere—but there were times when the voices went from _reasonable_ to _overwhelming_. She heard cries of other Wraiths in pain, warnings for other times and places, whispers of futures that might not come at all. It flooded her ears, setting her heart racing, sometimes driving her to panic attacks.

She had better support systems now. She could call Elliott, Pathfinder, even Crypto if she needed someone to center her. She had learned how to cope on her own, more or less, even if it was hard.

Strangely enough, the smaller flare-ups were harder to handle.

Unlike the larger ones, they were unexpected, brief, like an unexplained slap to the face. She’d be minding her own business, for example, talking to someone at dinner, her eyes would land on someone’s knife, and…

_stab them._

The thought would be there, then gone without explanation. No reason why she should, no indication from the person in question that they were a threat…just the thought.

But sometimes it wasn’t just the thought—sometimes her mind started following through, imagining herself picking up the blade, wondering how much pressure it would take to pierce the skin, go through muscle, pin their hand to the table so they couldn’t…

Couldn’t _what?_ It was Lifeline’s hand she was staring at. Ajay would never…

Right?

Right. There was no reason for Ajay to hurt her.

Wraith kept telling herself that. Still, the thought lingered long after lunch was over.

The worst moment was when it happened with Elliott.

It had been a perfectly good day up until that point. She hadn’t slept well, that was true, but she had no matches, no real obligations, nothing to do but try to treat herself kindly and spend time with people she cared about. Lunch with Crypto. Walk with Pathfinder. Dinner and a movie with Elliott. She’d been sitting with her head resting on his shoulder, relaxed, the sound of him chuckling at some joke in the movie reverberating against her cheek. When she glanced up at him…

It was more an image than a command—the brief, sudden flash of how easy it would be to grab his head, slam it against the coffee table. Break that stupid, perfect face of his.

She had no reason to. She didn’t _want_ to. But she could see it so clearly, as if the timelines were overlapping and showing a time and place where she hurt…

Wraith got up abruptly and speed-walked to the bathroom. “Wraith?” Elliott called after her, concerned.

“Cramps,” she lied. “Sorry…give me a second…”

She locked herself in the bathroom and covered her mouth to muffle a horrified sob.

_What do you want? Why are you showing me this?!_ She looked at her reflection in the mirror—pale, shaken, eyes wide, blue and not clouded over. Staring at herself had never once helped her contact her fellow Wraiths, but she still caught herself doing it every time. _There’s no reason for that, he’d never hurt me, why are you…?_

Nothing. Silence. Of course.

She turned on the sink, sat on the edge of the tub and forced herself to breathe slowly. The image kept flashing in her mind—the harder she tried not to think about it, the worse and more vividly the image kept popping up in her mind. Her hands gripped at her knees. She counted back from fifty. Made it to thirty-eight before she screwed up. Started over.

It took her three times to count backwards from fifty, her mind was still so scrambled. But something in her said, _if I just get it right, if I just do this right, if, if, if, then this won’t be the timeline where I have to…_

_…four…three…two…one…_

She wasn’t sure she felt better when she finally opened her eyes. But she was calm enough to make an exit. She made sure there weren’t any tears on her face before she left the bathroom. Elliott was sitting in silence in the living room, having paused the movie to wait for her. That just made her feel worse. “Hey, uhm, I think I’m going to head back to my place, I don’t…I don’t feel well,” she said. That was only a lie because of her previous cover story; it was enough of a lie to make the guilt worse. “Sorry.”

“No, no, don’t be sorry.” He was on his feet and at her side in a second. “Can I do anything? Do you…”

“No, I’m okay. I just need to rest.” She wanted to walk out right now, didn’t trust herself around him, but she couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. It would make him suspicious if she did, or worse, it would make him feel like he’d done something wrong. She forced herself to turn, kiss him on the cheek like she always would, as if nothing were wrong and it really was just bad cramps. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Yeah…” Elliott kissed her forehead in return. It felt like a kindness she didn't deserve. “If you do need anything…”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know that, too.” Her smile was genuine, coming as it always did with their in-joke—she felt it start to slip when Elliott smiled back. Another kindness she didn’t deserve. “See you.”

She managed to make herself walk out his door, then out the door of his apartment complex.

Then, she took off running.

As if that would somehow help her escape those terrifying thoughts.

* * *

The first sign something was wrong came when she was performing the checking ritual. It was late. She was so tired she was shaking, but she couldn’t stop looking.

Until…

_get some sleep. you need to sleep._

She wasn’t done looking. She had to keep looking.

_there's nothing there. there never was._

What?

Wraith froze.

She was stuck like that for some time, her hands shaking.

That voice didn’t speak up again. But the one in the back of her mind, the one that was more a gut feeling than an actual voice, started screaming the second her head hit the pillow.

_are you sure you checked everywhere?_

She pulled her pillow over her head. She tried to ignore that feeling.

She really tried.

But the anxiety kept growing and the feeling of _dread_ kept growing and no matter how tightly she held the pillow against her ears, the urge was still there. The thought.

_look again. you have to be sure, you have to know, they’ll take you away again if you don’t, check again, check again, check again_ … Her mind obsessed over every place where she might find the cameras, over what they might be watching, what they might know about her…

She got up. She checked again.

She had to check three more times before she could sleep.

* * *

That was when she started asking questions.

She had never really second-guessed those urges—with her life being what it was, she had never _thought_ to once she got out of the facility, because listening to the things that people said weren’t “real” had saved her skin. In the months after her escape, she had been able to convince herself that she wasn’t sick—not in the way they’d told her. She could agree to something like PTSD, maybe, anxiety, sure, depression, sometimes, but not psychosis. Not schizophrenia. The voices could be upsetting, overwhelming, enough to make her lose sleep, but they were _real_ people, real versions of her watching and speaking to her. They were real.

But this? Now that she thought about it, it occurred to her maybe the thing that had been warning her all this time, telling her to be diligent to the point of self-destruction, that invasive seed of thought that had taken root and choked out all rational thought was… _her._ Not another Wraith, not a glimpse into another timeline. Just her mind, misfiring and spewing terror.

Had she been there for a good reason after all?

_Was_ she sick?

If there was truly something in her mind that didn’t work, if she couldn’t trust her own thoughts, what else might she not be able to trust?

She was jarred from her thoughts by the sound of her phone beeping. It was Elliott, texting about dinner. She almost told him no. She couldn’t stand the thought of food from the cafeteria—food that, it occurred to her, could have been poisoned with who knew what.

Great. Now _that_ thought was in her head.

But when he clarified that he was thinking about cooking himself, but would definitely make too much, so did she want some, Wraith felt a bit safer about it. Just a bit, though—she still wanted to be there to watch him cook.

_Sure, I’ll come over,_ she said. If she walked fast, maybe she’d get there before he started.

That was her hope, at least. But, by the time she arrived, she found that he had already started. Usually, his cheerful greeting and smile would be enough to jar her from whatever mood she was in. But tonight she felt like a live wire. Everything was setting her off and she wasn’t sure how to handle it.

_Elliott wouldn’t hurt you. He loves you. He’d never do that._

Still, she watched what he was doing as he resumed cooking. He was talking to her about something; whatever he was saying went in one ear, out the other. She was too focused on making sure he didn’t put anything strange in the food—but when she didn’t even know what the recipe was, how could she know what was strange? How did she know he wasn’t trying to…

“Hey, babe, you good?”

Wraith flinched away from the hand on her shoulder, drawing her kunai without thinking. Elliott immediately back off, hands held up, eyes wide and confused. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry…I’m sorry, it’s just me…”

He looked afraid. Afraid of _her_. She’d done that, all because of something that wasn’t even real. It _wasn’t real._

Wraith set the blade down. She wrapped her arms around herself, body shaking, trying to hold back tears. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“No, no, don’t. _I’m_ sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you when you looked spooked. What’s wrong? Did something happen?” Elliott turned off the stove and pulled a chair over, close enough to be supportive, not so close that he was crowding her.

“I don’t know. I don’t…” Admitting it felt like throwing up, but she had to say something. “Elliott, I think something’s wrong with me.”

“What do you mean?”

She didn’t want to tell him. But after she’d drawn a knife on him, she knew she didn’t have any other choice. Wraith hugged herself more tightly, stared at the floor, and she told him.

She told him _everything._ Even the parts where she had thought about hurting hm.

By the time she was done, she felt like she’d been cut open for examination. She was too afraid to look up, too afraid to see the look on Elliott’s face. What did he think of her now? She was already a lot to handle, but _this_ was something else entirely.

“Okay, so…I’m not an expert, but that some of that sounds almost like…anxiety, maybe? You said it’s because you’re afraid of people coming to take you back, right?”

Wraith risked glancing up. Elliott looked—concerned, definitely, but not afraid. “Yeah.”

“Okay, that could be anxiety. It kind of reminds me of when I’m in a social situation and I have that…running monologue about how everyone is looking at me and everyone thinks I’m stupid. I mean, I’m not you, I don’t have firsthand experience with it, but, uh…could be that? Or trauma? You’ve been through a lot…”

He had a point, but that didn’t explain all of it. “What about…the parts where I think about hurting people?” she whispered.

“…okay, not gonna lie, I’m lost on that part, but…could be what you thought, right? Timelines getting crossed? Or…could be a trauma thing too, I don’t…” Elliott shrugged, suddenly looking self-conscious. “I’m sorry. I’m really not an expert, I’m just trying to remember the stuff I’ve talked about with my doctor, and I don’t think whatever’s going on in my brain is anything like what you’re going through.”

His doctor. Of course. How had she forgotten that he was going to therapy? She could’ve been using him as a resource this entire time. “Do you think you could…ask him about it?”

“I can try. I mean…I won’t be going back for a few days, but I can definitely try next time.” He held out a hand, hesitantly. Wraith took it. “I didn’t know…”

“I didn’t tell you. Don’t beat yourself up over it.” The tears started trying to make a comeback. Damn it. “I didn’t even realize it until now…I spent all this time thinking I wasn’t crazy, and now…”

“You’re _not._ Hey, you’re not crazy.”

“What if I am?”

“You’re _not._ You might be mentally ill, but so are half the people I know at this point. Probably more than half. And…c’mon, you’re not exactly talking to the paraguh…par…I’m no model of mental health is what I’m getting at.” He squeezed her hand gently. “Whatever this is, we can figure it out.”

He said it so earnestly; there was a lot of worry in his eyes, but he really seemed to believe that they could fix this. Part of Wraith didn’t believe it was that simple, but she _wanted_ to.

“Uh, but until then…” Elliott glanced back at the kitchen. “I can start over, if you want? I’ll eat what I already made, but I can make just enough for you, or…you can make it yourself? Or something else? I have some unopened food, you can take whatever you want.”

“No, no, Elliott, you don’t have to do that…”

“Are you sure? I want you to be comfortable…I _really_ want you to eat, not eating isn’t going to help matters any.”

She wanted to cry again, but this time from gratitude. “Okay,” she said quietly.” I can…I can make myself something. I think that will work.”

It did. Somehow, miraculously, she was able to make her own meal, even with Elliott’s ingredients, and eat it without feeling sick.

It was a small victory, but she was going to run with it.

* * *

Elliott went to see his doctor a few days later. As promised, he called her the second he was out of the office

“Okay, so I’m on speaker, sorry if the driving noises are loud…” She could hear the humming of his car’s engine in the background as he spoke. “Uh, I spoke to the doc about it…he said he can’t diagnose without having met or spoken to you and you should probably see someone in person.”

Great. “Please tell me there’s a _but_.”

“Actually, yeah. He said that it sounds like an anxiety disorder, uh, he thinks maybe obsessive compulsive disorder? And then gave me a list of doctors that specialize in that, so, I dunno. He really wants you to see someone. I…might’ve told him that you were trying to hide from some abusive family and you might not want to see someone…”

Wraith raised an eyebrow. Damn, decent cover story. Why hadn’t she thought of that? “Good thinking.”

“Thanks. Only took the whole car drive to come up with that one.” The words were self-depreciating, but he _did_ sound pleased with himself. “But yeah, he said they’re discreet. Frontier Corps doctors like him, not in anyone’s pockets, actually follow privacy laws and shit. It could be worth it…? I mean, I don’t want to push you, but it’s been _really_ helpful for me.”

“…maybe. I don’t know.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll think about it. Was there anything else?”

“No, sorry. We’re still in the middle of a deep dive about my negative self-talk and he wanted to get back to that. I think he thought I was stalling again.”

“That’s okay. Thank you, Elliott. That’s…a place to start, at least.” Better than trying to do a deep dive on her own, finding all the wrong answers, and freaking herself out more. "I'll look into it."

"Try looking for stuff from people who actually have it. Symptoms lists can be kinda vague sounding. My thing with ADHD really clicked when I listened to people who were like me. Hey, you know I'm here for you, right?"

She did. Of course she did. But hearing it still relieved some deep sense of dread she didn't realize she was feeling until then. "I know," she replied. "Thank you." She had to stop to rub her eyes. " I'll see you when you get back. Love you."

"I know. I mean…I love you, too.”

Wraith smiled. “I know.”

The smile faded by the time she’d hung up.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but Wraith had to. She picked up her tablet and searched _obsessive compulsive disorder._

_Obsessive–compulsive disorder (OCD) is a mental disorder in which a person feels the need to perform certain routines repeatedly (called "compulsions"), or has certain thoughts repeatedly (called "obsessions"). The person is unable to control either the thoughts or activities for more than a short period of time._

That sounded right so far.

_These activities occur to such a degree that the person's daily life is negatively affected, often taking up more than an hour a day. Most adults realize that the behaviors do not make sense._

She had to laugh, albeit bitterly, at that. Yeah, she knew that _now_. It had made perfect sense at the time. Then again, she was a unique case in more ways than one.

Wraith scrolled down to the _Signs and Symptoms_ section…and almost immediately went cross-eyed. It wasn’t just that, as Elliott said, the descriptions were broad and nebulous; it was that there were a _lot_ of dry facts with medical and psychological terms. Any other day, she could have slogged through it. She’d definitely read worse (and, unlike Elliott, she didn’t have inattentive ADHD messing with her reading comprehension). But today she was shaky, desperate for answers, and not in the head space for talk of _putative neuropsychological deficits_ and how neuroimaging came into play. So, instead of trying to do a thorough read, she started from the top and skimmed for anything that jumped out as familiar.

A _lot_ jumped out as familiar.

_A more intense obsession could be a preoccupation with the thought or image of someone close to them dying. Other obsessions concern the possibility that someone or something other than oneself will harm the person with OCD._

_The person might feel that these actions somehow either will prevent a dreaded event from occurring or will push the event from their thoughts. Some common compulsions include checking things (e.g., locks on doors), repeating actions (e.g., turning on and off switches), and requesting reassurance._

_Intrusive thoughts may involve violent obsessions about hurting others or themselves. The suppression of intrusive thoughts often cause these thoughts to become more intense and persistent. In the 19th century, OCD was known as "the doubting sickness"; the "pathological doubt" that accompanies OCD can make it harder for a person with OCD to distinguish "normal" intrusive thoughts as experienced by most people, which lead them to be too embarrassed to talk about it out of fear that other people would think they were insane._

She had to put her tablet aside and breathe for a second.

When she was done, Wraith picked it back up and started looking for support groups.

A _lot_ more jumped out as familiar.

There were people talking about checking the locks on their door to make sure no one could break in, checking windows, checking weapons. People who counted to calm down, to the point that it became a compulsion in itself. Counted items to make sure none were missing. People who worried about hurting friends, family—one woman who even got rid of all her sharp knives at one point because the intrusive thought of stabbing herself or her then-boyfriend were so overwhelming. Wraith scanned through dozens and dozens of stories of people struggling with the same things she did, who had survived the same things she did, commiserating and asking advice, afraid or resolved…

She didn’t know _why_ it made her feel so overwhelmed to see so many people going through the same thing. But it did.

Wraith didn’t realize how long she’d been reading until she heard a knock at the door. She was, for a moment, tempted not to answer; her mind was still so wrapped up in everything that her first thought was someone had _finally_ come for her. But, as if her fears were somehow broadcast for all to hear, she received a text.

[ _Elliott sent] hey sorry its me. now a bad time?_

Technically, it was. But it was exactly the kind of bad time she needed support for.

Wraith opened the door. She must’ve looked bad, because Elliott immediately looked worried. “Uh…do you want to talk about it?”

She stepped aside to let him in. Once he was, and the door was securely shut, she hugged him tightly. Elliott didn’t ask questions: he just hugged her back.

Wraith was still trembling, still reeling and terrified. But that embrace, at least, was keeping her in the present. Grounded in that moment.

That was all she needed.

* * *

“I don’t want to live like this.”

She’d told him everything she’d found, eventually. It wasn’t a sure thing, she knew—the word of one doctor and an internet search wasn’t much. But it was the closest thing to answers she’d had in ages, and it completely terrified her.

_What kind of sense does that make?_

“You don’t have to.” They were sitting on her bed, Wraith leaning against Elliott as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “There’s a lot of options…even the Syndicate wouldn’t have to know.”

She wasn’t sure she believed it, but logically…well, if Elliott could keep everything going on with _him_ a secret… “Is it…” She wasn’t sure how she wanted to finish that sentence.

“Hard? Exhausting? Shit your pants terrifying? Yeah, all three, but…I mean, I’ve been better, haven’t I?” It was true; he had been. More organized, more confident, the _real_ kind of confident. “I don’t regret it. I hate it sometimes, but bare minimum, I don’t regret getting tested. Naming it…it makes the whole thing easier. It means I’m not just a lazy idiot.”

Wraith nodded. “And I’m not crazy.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed her arm gently. “It’s your decision, but no matter what…say the word, I’ll help as best I can. I promise.”

Wraith nodded.

She thought about it as they sat in silence. About nights without fear. About at least knowing what she was dealing with, even if she had to fight the battle alone.

No. Not completely alone.

“You mind if I steal that abusive family cover story?” she asked.

“Nah, that one’s a freebie. You’ll probably tell it better than I did.” She felt him kiss the top of her head. “Hey. You’ve got this.”

She hoped so.

His belief in her, at least, made her feel better.

* * *

It said a lot about the kind of friends she had that Wraith could go up to one of them, say _I need fake identity papesr_ and only get a _You owe me dinner for a week_ in response. Crypto didn’t even ask why she needed them until he was well into the process.

“I…need to see a doctor,” she said. “Not someone with the Syndicate. I have a cover story, but they’ll want some kind of documentation, so…” She shrugged. “Here we are.”

Crypto glanced up at her, concern in his eyes. “Should I be worried?” he asked.

“I’m not dying, if that’s what you mean.” Wraith hesitated. Crypto was sticking his neck out for her…again. She owed him some kind of explanation. They’d hit that point in the friendship. “I might have a serious anxiety disorder. It’s getting difficult to manage. But you can see why I don’t want to see someone with the Syndicate.”

Crypto still looked worried, but less so than before. Probably because she wasn’t dying. “Understandable.” He turned back to the document he was filling in. “Do you have a preference for a name?”

She shrugged. “Not really.” She’d tried naming herself in the past, but nothing ever stuck. Every alias she’d ever used was purely utilitarian, nothing she’d go by permanently. “Something easy to remember. I think they put me in the system as _Jane Doe_ for the games.”

Crypto snorted quietly. He seemed lost in thought as he typed out a first name: _Mila_. “Do you want me to put _Witt_ for your surname?”

“ _Piss off_ ,” Wraith said, immediately shoving him. She was laughing when she said it; Crypto laughed right back. “Don’t you dare. Do I look like a Mila?”

Crypto looked confused for a second. He re-read what he’d written, then replaced _Mila_ with _Mina._ “Typo,” he said, in a tone that Wraith immediately wanted to call bullshit on. She bit her tongue, because Crypto _was_ doing her a favor right now, but filed that information away for later. “Does he know?”

“Elliott? Yeah, he’s been helping set me up with someone.” She knew she didn’t have to elaborate, beyond what she’d already told him. But… “We think it’s OCD, but they’ll have to run some tests first.”

Saying it out loud still felt terrifying—still made some part of her feel hollow and afraid. But it was a name. An explanation. _Something_. Better than the vast reaches of her mind screaming at her for no reason.

Crypto, for his part, only nodded in response. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

Good question. But after giving it some thought…

“I will be, I think. I want to be.”

He nodded, reached out, and gently squeezed her shoulder. “Good,” he said. “That’s the first step.”

It would be a long road. She’d have to find a doctor, someone with enough credentials to help her but enough legitimacy to not sell her medical history. She’d have to come up with a more plausible back story for her traumas, do a careful balancing act of keeping her secrets and helping herself heal. It would be hard, but the alternative was worse.

She wanted to get better. She meant that. She _would_ get better.

Wraith had been through too much to let something like this beat her.

**Author's Note:**

> So. Yeah, the day a counselor looked me in the eyes and said "It could be OCD" was pretty whack.
> 
> My experiences aren't a perfect parallel to what I wrote for Wraith, because we're different people and all, but some parts are pure projection. If this doesn't line up with your experience, that's probably why--I can only speak to what I'm experiencing as someone with a tenuous diagnosis and a whole lot of anxiety. I wish I had someone I could point to for answers like I do in my (equally vent-y) Mirage fics, but unfortunately this is a brain beast I'm mostly battling myself, with mixed results. (Okay I have a therapist, but I haven't found a "How to OCD" channel. Yet.) I guess all I can say is, if you're going through something similar...anxiety is a bully, no matter what form it takes, and we don't negotiate with terrorists. Try to remember that.
> 
> Title and description lyrics are from "Interlude 1" by alt-J. Italicized info about OCD is copy-pasted from the wikipedia pages for OCD and intrusive thoughts. General tumblr is screechthemighty, tumblr for Apex content is respawncinematicuniverse, and if one more person in the lore uses "headcase" casually I'm gonna start throwing hands.
> 
> Also, full disclosure, the repetition of "if" in Wraith's bathroom panic moment is a semi-shout out to the fic "If I" by Psilent, which I haven't read in ages but was the first fic I ever read that tackled OCD. It's also the only Guardians of the Galaxy fic I've ever read so there's that. Also also, Elliott offering to start the food over is NOT technically how you treat OCD but in his defense he didn't know it was OCD so he was just doing his best with the info he had. But for the record: avoidance is another compulsion you need to punch in the face and I do know this. (It's just...Very Hard.)


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